


Waiting for the End

by missbecky



Series: The Mission [2]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Implied Character Death, M/M, Off-screen torture, PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in a series, the sequel to A Minor Incident. When the Mandarin strikes, Steve's new mission to protect Tony is put to the test, and he is forced to confront the truth about his feelings for Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for the End

_This is not the end_  
This is not the beginning  
"Waiting for the End" – Linkin Park

 

**From A Minor Incident:**

_And okay, Steve got it. They weren't going to talk about what had happened today. They were going to pretend it had not happened._

_He could do that, Steve decided. He was not going to forget it, though. He was never going to forget that moment when his world view had changed, when he had realized Tony was worth fighting for._

****

For about a month after the incident in the Hydra tunnels, life was good. They spent some time chasing down a rumor that Red Skull had been sighted in Italy, but finally had to give it up when they found no real evidence. Someone calling himself the Mandarin appeared in China with some armored suits, and when they defeated him, he declared a vendetta against Iron Man. Bruce lost control and Hulked out and nearly sent Natasha to the hospital, and only Thor was able to inflict enough damage on him to get him to the point where Steve could talk him down. They battled Loki in the Australian outback and Thor wreaked havoc with the weather there, creating a typhoon that devastated some islands in the Pacific, which earned him a severe chastising from most of the world's leaders. Clint and Natasha had a brief, torrid affair, then broke up, then got back together. Bruce and Tony got in a fight. Steve and Thor got in a fight. Clint got in a fight with all of them.

That was how it was, being part of the Avengers.

Steve enjoyed that time. His team was more accessible than ever before and he was rarely alone anymore. On a few rare days they even gathered together to do things as a group that didn't involve battling supervillains or intergalactic space aliens. Those times almost always ended with someone getting in a fight with someone else – and on one memorable occasion with the dishwasher exploding – but Steve wouldn't have traded them for anything.

He went to the firing range with Clint and let the other man mock him for his terrible archery skills. Natasha took him to a Japanese restaurant and he tried sushi for the first time (he hated it.) Bruce taught both Steve and Thor some basic yoga moves as a way of calming themselves, and that went well until Tony caught them one day and laughed so hard he made himself choke. That put a stop to the yoga lessons in a hurry.

Steve wasn't quite sure what the other Avengers did with their spare time, but then, he hadn't made it his mission to watch over them. And so from a silent, respectful distance he watched as Tony remained constantly busy during that time, producing a never-ending string of upgrades and renovations to all their gear and weapons. The new suit he fabricated for Steve had a greatly enhanced armor underweave, along with a more streamlined design. Steve could feel the difference the first time he put it on, and he wasted no time in expressing his appreciation. Tony waved off his thanks with some line about just doing his job, but he could see how pleased Tony was by his reaction.

Two days later he got to put the new uniform to the test when a French chemist calling himself the Grey Gargoyle took it into his head to start a crime spree and turn people into stone. After a lengthy battle at the Hudson River, they were able to successfully stop him, and they returned to the Avengers Tower tired and aching, but proud of their latest triumph. As they gathered about the enormous conference table for their SHIELD debriefing, Steve watched as they high-fived each other and exchanged teasing insults and banter. Truly they were a team now, in every sense of the word.

****

During the first week of October, they fought off a monster Doctor Doom had somehow managed to summon from another dimension. Naturally, the thing came into their world from a portal spinning above the Avengers Tower, and they were hard-pressed to take care of it on their own. They managed it, though, and by the time the Fantastic Four arrived, only the clean-up was left.

"Suck it, Richards," Tony snarked. "Bruce called dibs on dissecting this thing."

"I did?" Bruce said quietly. Steve was pretty sure no one else heard him.

Reed Richards sighed. "There's no calling dibs in science."

"Really? I could swear I heard that one before. Either way, what's left of the thing is on the roof of my tower, and that makes it my property," Tony said. "Sorry about your luck. Maybe you'll get the next one."

"There better not be a next one," Steve said dourly.

****

Later that night, he dreamed about the battle. 

It all started out the same as in real life. Lately there had been more than the normal number of rumors about Doom getting up to something. All day long JARVIS had been reporting unusual atmospheric anomalies centered just above the Tower, so they were already suited up and prepared when the portal opened. As they rode the swift elevator to the rooftop, Bruce said, "Why did you have to make this thing so tall?"

"Overcompensating, probably," Clint snarked.

Everyone ignored this except Tony, who gave him the finger. Bruce continued as though Clint had not interrupted. "Setting aside the fact that, you know, _we_ live here, you do realize that by making it so tall, every alien, monster, and supervillain attack made on this city will be centered on this tower, right?"

Tony just grinned. "Why do you think I made sure it was the tallest building in New York?"

Thor clapped him on the shoulder, sending him staggering despite the armor. "This is good! You are starting to think like a warrior."

"Thanks," Tony said dryly, after recovering his balance.

The thing that came through Doom's portal was a hideous cross between an enormous, heavily-armored turtle and an octopus. There were enough tentacles flailing around to keep all of them engaged. Even blows from Mjolnir and the Hulk could barely move it. And then the thing unfurled a tail that had been previously hidden, thick and scaly and tipped with a giant barb. The beast roared, and the tail lashed out.

In reality, Hawkeye leaped nimbly out of the way and Iron Man merely flew up to avoid it. In Steve's dream, the wicked barb smashed right through Iron Man's armor. Red metal crumpled like tissue paper. The arc reactor exploded in a starburst of sparks and brilliant white light. The barb burst out the back of the suit and impaled Hawkeye through the chest.

"Clint!" Natasha's scream was agonized.

Steve envied her. He could not scream. He had no voice.

Horribly, the two Avengers hung on that spiked tail for an endless time. Hawkeye's face was ashen; he clutched weakly at the tail where it pierced his chest. In front of him, Iron Man hung limp and unmoving. 

Thor bellowed in rage and swung Mjolnir at the thing. It screeched and retracted the tail. There were two sick cracking noises, then Hawkeye and Iron Man tumbled lifelessly to the ground.

Steve ran toward them. One glance told him that Clint was already dead. He threw himself to his knees. "Tony!"

Behind him Hulk and Thor continued to battle Doom's monster. Natasha had gone to Clint's side. Steve tugged uselessly at Iron Man's helmet. He could not bear the thought of Tony dying this way, trapped behind that mask, unable to look at the sky one last time.

"Captain!" Thor called for him. "We need you!"

No light shown behind that mask. The arc reactor was in pieces, ominously dark. Tony did not move. 

He was gone.

 _Too late_ , Steve thought. _Everything. All of it. Too late. I'm too late._

And finally ( _too late_ ) he found his voice, and could scream.

****

He woke with damp eyes and a racing heart. He had dreamed about losing men (Bucky) before, but never like this. The dream still felt too close, stifling him, making it hard to breathe. He rose from his bed and went into the bathroom to wash his face. His hands were shaking, he saw without surprise.

He could not understand why he was so affected by the nightmare. He stood there for a long time, just staring at his reflection, before he accepted that he was not going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers," came the instant reply.

"Where are Clint and Tony?"

"Mr. Barton is asleep in his room," JARVIS replied smoothly. "Mr. Stark is on his way to the kitchen."

It was 3:22 in the morning, but he was not surprised that Tony was still awake. "Thank you." He really wanted to check on Clint in person, but he contented himself with JARVIS's answer. If he opened the door to Clint's room to peek in on him, he would most likely find Natasha there too, and that was something he was not at all eager to see.

But the kitchen was doable.

He pulled on yesterday's T-shirt and took the elevator up three floors. Here on the main floor, the lights were all off, but he could see a yellow glow coming from the kitchen. Silently he walked up, then stopped in the doorway.

Tony was standing in front of the open refrigerator, frowning thoughtfully at its contents. His left arm was draped over the door, fingers drumming idly. The arc reactor glowed through a cut-out in the ragged tank he was wearing. His hair stood up wildly and a bright yellow cable was draped over his neck like a scarf. He leaned down to get something out of the refrigerator, and Steve's eyes had involuntarily traced the arch of his back and the curve of his ass before his brain caught up to what he was doing. And with a sudden rush, the air left his lungs and he found himself flushed and reeling.

"Cap! What the hell?!" Tony shut the refrigerator door with as close to a slam as its pneumatic hinges allowed. "Lurk much?"

Steve did not trust himself to speak. He was still in shock. How in the world had he missed this? For so long right in front of him… How had he missed the fact that Tony was so beautiful?

"Hello? Earth to Captain America?" Tony snapped his fingers in Steve's face. "You in there? Do super soldiers sleepwalk?"

Oh. That was how.

He blinked and pulled himself together. "Yeah. I'm just… Hungry," he finished lamely.

"Well don't expect much," Tony said. He was holding a small chicken drumstick. "I think the Hulk's been foraging again." He frowned. "You sure you're okay? You look like you're about to fall over."

In truth he kind of felt that way. He fumbled toward one of the bar stools lining the counter, feeling like he had suddenly become skinny little Steve Rogers from Brooklyn all over again. "Yeah. I, uh." He stared helplessly at Tony, trying to understand why he was feeling these strange and weird things he was feeling all of a sudden, or even where they had come from. "I, uh, had a bad dream."

"Happens in our line of work," Tony said with what sounded like surprisingly genuine sympathy.

"Even you?" Steve asked. He hoped the light from the arc reactor wasn't strong enough to illuminate his face.

"Sure, why not me?" Tony took a bite from the drumstick. He shrugged. "Falling, mostly. The suit shutting down. That kind of thing."

"Really?" Despite the incredible revelation he had just had – or maybe because of it – Steve seized on this diversion. "What would you do if that happened?"

"Um." Bemused, Tony looked up from his late night snack. "Panic? Flail around wildly? Scream like a little girl?"

"Now that I can't imagine," Steve said. But oh God, his heart sped up just thinking about it, remembering their first battle together and the way Iron Man had plummeted through the sky, that sickening feeling of helplessness, just standing there watching, waiting for the inevitable.

This was not good. This was seriously _not good_.

"Believe me, I've done all three. Sometimes even at the same time. Maybe someday if you're lucky, you'll get to witness it," Tony said. He gnawed on the bone of the drumstick, then tossed it into the trash. He moved over to the sink to wash his hands.

Unable to help it, Steve stared at Tony's bare arms, lit by the glow from the arc reactor. He wasn't half as strong as Thor or Steve himself, but his arms were nicely muscled from wearing the armor and the physical labor he did in the workshop. Before he could stop himself, Steve blurted, "You know, uh, I could help you."

Tony finished drying his hands before saying, "With what exactly?"

"I was just thinking," Steve said, his eyes fixed firmly on the countertop, "if you were interested, that is, I could teach you to fight like me. You know, hand-to-hand combat." He was miserably aware that he was flushing again, and he tensed up, ready to spring backward into the shadows if Tony came any closer. He couldn't let the light from the arc reactor fall on his face and reveal the tumult he was experiencing.

"Ooo-kay," Tony said, once again with that look of half-amusement, half-bewilderment. "Not gonna ask where that came from, because I probably don't want to know. But the answer is no. Why would I ever need to know that? I wear a suit of iron, remember? Well, titanium-gold alloy, but that's not the point. The point is, only hive-mind aliens and Doombots have been stupid enough to attack me with their bare hands, so yeah, not really needing to know that kind of thing."

"Okay," Steve said quietly. "Sure."

"Did you…" Tony stopped. "Is this about your dream?"

It was the perfect excuse. Steve leapt for it. "Maybe," he admitted.

"Are you," he looked up in time to see Tony step back a little in shock, "are you actually worried about me?"

"Not _worried_ ," he said quickly. "Concerned, maybe, is all. And I'll have you know, I didn't just dream about you." His cheeks heated up again at the unintentional innuendo in his words, made all the worse by Tony's knowing smirk. "It was about Clint, too."

"Wow, okay," Tony said. "Not a bad combo."

"It wasn't like that," Steve said firmly.

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't," Tony said, still smirking, damn him. "Or you wouldn't be offering to teach me hand-to-hand _combat_."

Steve pushed himself away from the counter so hard the bar stool fell over with a very loud clatter. "You remember that day last week when you said you could be a dick sometimes? Well, guess what? This is one of those times." He turned around and stalked out of the kitchen – although his sweeping exit was marred somewhat by the fact that his conscience would not let him leave until he had righted the fallen bar stool.

"Cap." Tony followed him into the living room. "Steve. Wait. You're right. That was a dick thing to say."

He stood very still. He didn't turn around. He couldn't understand what was going on. He had made himself a promise to watch over Tony, but this had never been part of the deal. He didn't know why he wanted to slug Tony in the face while at the same time he wanted to just stare at him and never let him out of his sight again. It made no sense. He was _Captain America_. He wasn't supposed to think such things about other men, _his_ men, and Tony Stark in particular.

"Cap?" The glow from the arc reactor came closer, and with a mental sigh, Steve braced himself and turned around.

The drapes were only half-pulled, and the room was lit by New York's eternal light, but the arc reactor's light was stronger. Most people would be ashamed of having such a device buried in their chest, he thought. They would go to great lengths to hide it, wearing several layers of dark clothing to cover up the glow. Only Tony Stark would showcase it, even cutting holes in his clothes to expose it, letting the whole world see what was at once both his greatest weakness and his greatest strength.

He realized he was staring again. With an effort, he dragged his eyes away from the arc reactor and looked up at Tony's face. That wasn't much better. Tony was staring at him intently, trying to puzzle him out, and Steve's heart began to race. Surely Tony would see what he was thinking. No doubt he saw it all the time, the great, wealthy, beautiful Tony Stark. People all over the world threw themselves at him. He would see it in Steve's face, too, and then—

He was under no illusions. Then everything would be ruined. Since their disastrous beginning aboard the helicarrier, they had grown from adversaries to allies, and then toward a tentative friendship – but that friendship was not strong enough yet to withstand something like this. He knew it with a certainty. 

"I, um." He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I think I'm still sort of half-asleep. I'm gonna just…" He pointed vaguely toward the floor. "Yeah." He turned, hunching his shoulders as he passed Tony. "Good night."

"Night," Tony said quietly.

****

More flustered than he had felt in a long time, he hurried down to the gym. Fortunately he had the large space to himself. There was no one to bear witness as he shadow-boxed his way around the ring, striking out at invisible enemies and putting down unseen phantoms.

He could not be in love with Tony Stark. It was unthinkable. Impossible. This was not what he had signed up for. He had sat there in that dark tunnel lit only by the arc reactor, soaked to the bone and shivering with cold, and he had vowed to watch over and protect Tony. Not fall in love with him.

No, he finally decided on his fiftieth circuit of the ring. He was not in love. What he had experienced tonight was nothing so profound. Tony Stark was an attractive man. There was no denying that. So he had just noticed. That was all it was. He was an artist. He had an eye for beauty. It was as simple as that.

A dozen rounds later, he was still lashing out at ghosts and trying to convince himself of that.

****

The simplest (if most cowardly) solution to his dilemma was to avoid Tony. Fortunately, his task was made easy; for the rest of October his team went off on their separate ways. 

All month long they came and went, and Steve felt like he was the only one who ever stayed. When he wasn't in Asgard, Thor went often to New Mexico to visit the woman he loved, despite Fury having officially forbidden it on grounds of national security. Clint and Natasha were sent on secret missions for SHIELD, usually alone but occasionally together. Tony flew off to various places, giving speeches and appearing at charity events, all those things he had put off during the year, forcing Pepper to work a miracle by cramming them all into a very short period of time. Bruce continued his crusade to cure himself, traveling far and wide to interivew various scientists and doctors.

Alone again for most of the time, Steve searched for a way to fill the hours. He volunteered at various charities in the city, giving freely of his time. There was something very satisfying about working with kids, he discovered, and he liked to think he was making a difference in their lives. And it was all right to be socially awkward around them, and ignorant of the many pop culture references they made. As an adult he was _expected_ to be ignorant. The kids helpfully educated him about things like Angry Birds and hip-hop lyrics, and usually with far less mockery than his own team gave him.

On the first of November, he was just leaving one of the youth shelters when his cell phone rang. The afternoon was bitterly cold, as one of the first major cold fronts of the year came swooping down from the Arctic. He saw the caller was Director Fury, and his heart skipped a beat. "Yes, sir."

"Get over here now," Directory Fury said. "We have a situation."

"Right away, sir." Steve shoved the phone in his pocket and ran for his motorcycle.

By the time Steve got there, the other Avengers, minus Thor and Tony, were already assembled around the large conference table at SHIELD headquarters. Their expressions were deeply somber, more than he had ever seen them. "What's going on?" he asked.

"There's been a plane crash," Director Fury said. He paused. "You should sit down, Captain."

Steve just sort of nodded, waiting for the rest of it.

And then he put it together. The looks on their faces. Their downcast eyes. Their missing members.

"No," he whispered.

"JARVIS notified me approximately half an hour ago," Director Fury said. "Tony Stark's private plane went down in some woods outside Toronto. The black box data indicates that there was an event in mid-air. Possibly an attempted hijacking. The pilot wasn't able to radio for help, that's how fast it happened. So far the media remains unaware of it. I've sent Thor out there to secure the site. The rest of you are going in the Quinjet as soon as we're done here. Agent Coulson will follow with SHIELD ground forces."

Steve did not sit down so much as he fell down. "Tony." His chest felt too tight; he couldn't breathe. 

"Our first priority is to secure the site and retrieve the Iron Man armor," Director Fury said. "We all know Stark kept that suitcase armor with him when he traveled. If that falls into the wrong hands…" He did not bother finishing the sentence. "Also, the arc reactor has to be retrieved. It—"

"The arc reactor!" Steve surged to his feet and slammed his hand down on the table so hard he heard a distinct crack as the wood broke somewhere. "Who cares about the _arc reactor_! This is _Tony_ we're talking about!"

"I am aware of that," Director Fury said with icy calm.

"He'd want this," Bruce said, a bit shakily. His eyes were reddened, as though he had been crying. Despite his own crushing grief, Steve loved him for that, for being the only one who had cried for Tony. "You know how important it was to him that no one got their hands on Iron Man's tech."

"It's okay," Natasha said to Steve. He had never heard her speak so gently before. "We're not just retrieving the arc reactor. We're bringing Tony home. Think of it that way."

Steve sank into his chair again. He could not "think of it that way." He could not think about this at all. He would go mad if he did.

"Let's go, people," Director Fury said.

****

The staging area where he kept the Captain America costume was empty. He reached for the cowl, then let his hand drop. "JARVIS."

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Is he really dead?"

"I do not know. I can only monitor Mr. Stark's vital signs in places where I have been uploaded." The AI hesitated, and Steve wondered if it was possible for a computer to feel emotions, or to grieve. "However, the odds of survival are quite low."

Steve just stood there, staring blindly at his cowl.

In a way it was like that day he had had the nightmare about Tony and Clint dying. Only this was no dream. This was terribly, hideously real. And in real life, as in that dream, he was faced with the terrible knowledge that it was too late. He had lost his chance.

He had to accept the truth. Now, when there was no other choice. He had hid from it that night, running from Tony's harmless joking and his own awkward moment of revelation. Since then he had done nothing but hide, using the Avengers' battles and their divergent schedules as a much larger shield to cower behind. Despite his promise that day of their adventure in the tunnel, he had made no effort to be friends with Tony. He had even gone out of his way to avoid being alone with him. And now it was too late to take it all back, to say he was sorry, to tell Tony the truth... 

"I never told him." Tears suddenly burned the backs of his eyes. "Why didn't I tell him, JARVIS? Why didn't I ever say anything? Why didn't I tell him??" He lashed out in fury, driving his fist into the locker in front of him. The metal squealed as it dented inward at the impact point.

" _Why_!" He threw himself at the wall of lockers, striking at them all, kicking out when just using his fists wasn't enough. " _Why_!!"

He reached the end of the row, spun on one heel to confront the opposite set of lockers, then suddenly sagged into stillness. "He died thinking no one loved him." The terrible truth sank into him, doing more to dull his rage than anything. "I did that. Because I never said anything. It was my fault."

"You are not to blame," JARVIS said, and oh God, even JARVIS sounded sad and Steve could not handle that, he simply _could not_ handle that.

He dropped heavily onto the bench that lined the row of now-broken lockers. "Oh my God. Oh my God." And then he couldn't speak anymore, for the sobs that tore from his chest.

 _Tony_ …

****

On the flight to Canada, Natasha pulled Steve aside. "Don't be angry with Fury," she said. "He's just doing what he has to."

Steve did not trust himself to speak. He just stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched. After his breakdown in the locker room, he felt calmer, but the vitality had gone out of the world around him. Colors were dulled, sounds were muted. He felt wrapped in wool, unable to feel much of anything at all.

"Bruce is right. Tony did want this. After the plane went down, JARVIS sent Fury an e-mail. It was a letter Tony had written shortly after he joined the Avengers. In it he told Fury what to do if…if this day ever came. He's the one who insisted that the arc reactor and any armor he had with him were our first priority."

Steve shut his eyes. He had written a letter of his own to be delivered upon his death. Except his letter contained things like good-byes and messages of thanks and memories fondly recalled. He had asked only that his shield and uniform be preserved and kept intact. Only Tony Stark would think first and foremost of the dangers posed by his own dead body, and instruct others to act accordingly.

Natasha gave up trying to talk to him. She moved away, and Steve just sat there, alone.

Against his will, he found himself wondering what had happened on that plane. He tried to think of a reason Tony hadn't simply donned the Iron Man armor and flown away, saving as many people as he could. Maybe the hijackers had taken the armor and he had been trapped in the falling plane just like everyone else. Maybe they had held the crew as hostages, forcing Tony into helpless inaction. Or maybe he had already been dead by that point.

But that was a thought too painful to consider, so he shied away from it. Inexorably though, his mind led him back to those final moments in the sky. He wondered what Tony's last thoughts had been. Why he hadn't sent a call for help. If he had thought about Steve at all.

"Cap?"

Startled out of his dark thoughts, he looked up to see Bruce watching him with worried eyes. He realized he was shaking, his shield rattling against the floor. With an effort, he forced himself to stop. "Sorry," he grunted.

"No worries," Bruce said with sympathy.

Natasha and Clint were flying the plane, but Bruce just sat there opposite him, watching him with lingering worry and compassion, and that was just too much. Was he that obvious? Was his supposedly well-kept secret no secret at all? Did they all know?

But no, they did not all know. The one person who _should_ have known, the one person he should have told, was gone. Tony was dead and Steve never got to tell him the one thing he should have said, the one thing he should never have let go unspoken.

And now it was too late.

****

Tony's private plane had crashed in a large area of woods outside Toronto. The wreckage was scattered for nearly a quarter of a mile. They found Thor in the largest section, where the fuselage and cockpit were still mostly intact.

The god of thunder was very grave. "There are four bodies here, but none of them belong to our brother."

"The suitcase armor?" Clint asked.

"I could not find it," Thor said.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look, and their expressions went even more grim.

"Did you look everywhere?" Bruce asked. "There's a lot of debris out here. Maybe you missed it."

"I am certain," Thor said.

"It's not here," Natasha said flatly. "They took it with them." She and Clint again shared a look, saying volumes with just their eyes. "And that's not all they took."

"Oh, no," Bruce groaned.

There could be no doubt what she meant. Steve suddenly felt almost light-headed with hope. "You mean," he said, "they have Tony."

"Looks that way," Clint said.

In the blink of an eye, he felt himself come alive again. Tony was not dead. The world rushed back into focus, colors and sounds roaring to life once more, and Tony was not dead, not dead, not dead. "Who? Why?" he demanded, and Tony was still not dead.

"I don't know who yet," Clint said. "We'll figure that out, though. As for why…" He grimaced. "Well, if you were a bad guy and you wanted to know—"

"This might not even be about Iron Man," Natasha said, "but the Avengers as a group."

Clint continued without missing a beat. "If you wanted to know about the Avengers, about our secrets, our weaknesses, how would you go about getting that information? Only a complete idiot would try anything with Bruce or Thor. Natasha and I are trained SHIELD agents; we're not gonna give anything up. You are Captain America. You were a soldier. Who does that leave?"

Tony Stark, of course. Tony, who was just a man when the armor came off. A man with a weak heart. A civilian with no training in how to handle abduction and interrogation – only his own past experience. A man who had already broken once under torture, who could be counted on to do so again.

"We'll find him," Bruce said. His voice sounded very loud. Startled, Steve looked up and saw that Bruce was standing directly in front of him, looking right at him. He hadn't realized he had drifted away like that. "We'll find him, Cap."

Steve looked at them. They were all watching him expectantly, waiting to see what he did next. It occurred to him that since learning of Tony's supposed death he had hardly behaved the way he should.

He didn't care.

"You better believe we will," he said.

****

In the end finding Tony was almost too simple. They reasoned that whoever had done this would keep an eye on the crash site, wanting to see who came and what they did next. Which meant they were probably being watched right now.

After that, it was easy. They found a man hidden in the trees, and flushed him out. He put up a good fight, but one strong blow from Thor knocked him unconscious. They tied his hands behind his back, radioed it in, and then they simply stood there, wondering who was going to make the next move. 

Natasha looked up. "We need to make sure there's no more tech lying around here," she said. "Especially that tablet Stark always carries. There are all kinds of notes and files on that thing we don't want falling into the wrong hands." She gave Steve an expectant look.

"Oh," he said, clueing in. "Right. Yeah."

"Go look for it," Natasha said. "Find it." She glanced down at their captive. "Hawkeye and I will stay and watch over Sleeping Beauty here."

"Yeah," Steve said again.

Trying to find an object as small as Tony's tablet in all this wreckage was going to take forever, he thought as he walked carefully through the debris, bent over so he could see better. He was pretty sure he shouldn't be doing this, anyway. This was the sort of job Agent Coulson and the ground team were better suited for. He was Captain America. He wasn't supposed to take orders from Black Widow. He was supposed to be out there right now, looking for Tony.

Tony. _God_. He was still reeling with it all. The horrid shock of learning that Tony was dead. Now this desperate hope blazing within his chest, somehow even worse than grief. And maybe in the end that was why he was out here, so he could hold onto that hope. As long as he remained ignorant, as long as he didn't know the terrible truth, he could let himself believe that Tony was still alive.

It wasn't until he heard the first scream that he realized how cleverly Natasha had manipulated him into leaving her with the lookout. He knew what she was doing then and why, and he howled aloud in furious denial. Even though every fiber of his body longed to be out there searching for Tony, he could not condone this. Never this.

He bolted back to where he had left them, already knowing that he was too late. Another scream filled the afternoon, and Steve shouted, "No! Don't!"

Clint burst from the woods, his hands raised. "Cap! Stop!"

"No!" Steve cried again. He gripped his shield tightly, although there was nothing to throw it at. "This isn't the way!"

"It's done," Clint said. He was still a young man, but he looked quite old then, stony lines carved on his face. "We know where Tony is."

At what cost, though? Steve didn't even blink. A single punch laid Clint out on his back. "You did this once," he said. "Never again. Do you understand?"

Clint blinked up at him and rubbed at his jaw. "Yeah," he grunted.

Satisfied that he had made his point, he started forward again – and nearly ran into Thor.

"It is done," Thor said. He appeared vaguely troubled, which was strange. Steve did not know much about Asgard, but he would have expected a man brought up in a warrior culture to have no qualms about torturing a man for information. "We know where they took him."

The bitterly cold afternoon suddenly lit up like the brightest summer day. It was true then. Tony was alive. Steve couldn't help it then; he let out a shout of joy and embraced Thor in a fierce, back-thumping embrace. "He's alive!"

A bit taken aback, Thor nonetheless returned the hug. "Indeed he is. And I imagine he is going to be very 'pissed off', as he likes to say."

Steve laughed. He could hear the slightly jagged edge to that laughter and he knew he was bordering on inappropriate, but he couldn't stop it. In one afternoon he had gone from crushing grief to desperate hope to wild joy. It was almost too much to take. "Where is he?"

"It is not far," Thor said. "We will not even require the plane. Clint and Natasha will lead us there."

"So they're here," Steve said. "In Toronto."

"If that is the name of this city, then yes," Thor said.

Steve hefted his shield more firmly onto his arm. "Then let's go get him back."

****

The house where they had taken Tony was nothing special. One man stood on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. A well-placed tranquilizer dart dropped him where he stood, unconscious before he even hit the ground. Steve had insisted on that beforehand; no one was going to die today. He wanted to talk to these men and find out who they were working for, who had the audacity to kidnap one of the Avengers and think they could get away with it.

They went in through the front door, and a bunch of things happened all at once. The two men who were sitting there watching TV leapt to their feet and started shouting and shooting at them. From somewhere in the house, Tony screamed in agony. Steve saw red – literally – as rage unlike anything he had ever felt before swept over him. Nor was he the only one apparently, for Bruce promptly roared and Hulked out.

Neither guns nor average-sized halls and doorways could stop the rampaging Hulk. Steve had long ago stopped feeling guilty about using Bruce's alter ego for cover. The creature had come a long way from his early days with the team, and was even able to follow orders, as he did now when Steve told him to make sure the rest of the house was clear.

They found Tony in the basement, sitting on a cheap metal folding chair. He was blindfolded with what looked like his own tie. His arms were pulled behind him, handcuffs securing his wrists. They had been hitting him, but that wasn't what had made him scream. His dress shirt was ripped open, buttons scattered across the floor. The undershirt beneath was torn in two, exposing the arc reactor and his bare chest – and the electrodes they had taped to his skin, one just below the arc reactor, the other on his stomach. Thin wires trailed from the electrodes to a black box that sat on a table in front of him. The smell of burning hung in the air, making Steve want to vomit.

Upstairs, the Hulk raged and tore the house apart, looking for anything else to smash. Down here, a heavyset man stood with one hand latched in Tony's hair, pulling his head back. In his other hand, he pressed a knife to Tony's throat. "Don't move," he warned. He looked at them in turn: Hawkeye with an arrow aimed at his heart, Captain America with his shield ready to throw, Black Widow with a pistol in both hands, Thor with Mjolnir raised. "I know you can take me out with those things," he said. "But before you do, I'll slit his throat."

Steve glanced once at Tony, hoping for some guidance. With the blindfold it was hard to tell, but he seemed only semi-conscious, unaware of what was going on.

That made it easier. He gripped his shield tightly. "Avengers," he said.

They acted as one, and afterward even Steve, who could see rapidly moving objects in slower speed, was hard pressed to say which one of them actually dropped the man.

The knife clattered to the floor, the edge wet with blood. Tony slumped in the chair, bleeding from a fresh cut on his neck. "Someone go stop Bruce," Steve ordered as he and Natasha hurried forward.

Clint retreated upstairs and Thor followed him, easily carrying the unconscious kidnapper out of the room. Natasha knelt down and began to pick at the lock of the handcuffs. Steve untied the blindfold and gently cupped Tony's face in both his hands, mindful of the new cuts and bruises there. "Tony? Can you hear me?"

Tony jerked awake with a pained outcry and tried to pull away. Steve tightened his grip fractionally. "It's okay," he said. His heart was beating so loudly it was a wonder the whole world couldn't hear it. "It's just me. We got you."

Tony stared up at him, his initial fear giving way to confusion, and then slow comprehension. "Steve?" He looked around, saw Natasha, then looked back at Steve. "Why…?" He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "How did you find me?"

Steve gave him a reassuring smile. "It's a long story. We can tell you on the way back."

"I didn't…" Tony swallowed hard. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and from the new cut on his neck. He was obviously in some pain; his breathing was fast and shallow. As soon as one hand was free, he reached up and grabbed Steve's left wrist in a panicky grip. "I didn't tell them anything."

"I know," Steve said. Maybe the others had harbored doubts, but he had not worried about that for a single second. "We know." Slowly he pulled his hands away; his gloves were wet with blood. "Are you okay? Can you walk?"

Tony held onto his wrist for a while longer, then abruptly let go. His features smoothed out so his face gave away nothing. The moment of weakness was gone as though it had never happened. "Sure," he said. He brought his other arm around, wincing in pain. Steve saw the deep grooves the cuffs had left in his wrists, and briefly saw red again.

It got worse when Tony reached down and pulled the electrodes free. As each one came off, he sucked in a sharp breath, and Steve could see that his hands were shaking. The skin beneath the electrodes was raw and red, and looked very painful. Steve took a deep breath and struggled to remain calm. He turned away as Tony plucked at the torn remains of his undershirt, trying in vain to regain some of his dignity, and his glance fell on the black box on the table. It looked completely harmless now, not a thing to be feared.

Upstairs the roaring had stopped. Somewhere up there Thor, Clint, and Bruce were gathering them up, those men who had dared to abduct Tony Stark from his private plane, killing four innocent people in the process. Men who had demanded to know his secrets and punished him with pain when he had refused. Men who would spend the rest of their lives in prison – a sentence that suddenly seemed far too lenient for the magnitude of their crimes.

But that was not his call. And he would go crazy if he thought about it for too long. "Come on. Let's get out of here." He reached down and pulled Tony to his feet.

"No. Wait." Tony swayed and almost fell. Steve had to resist the urge to help him by throwing a protective arm about his shoulders. Such a gesture would not only be inappropriate, it would be unappreciated and Tony would only be angry with him. "The armor. Where is it?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted.

"I need it," Tony said. "If they…" His jaw clenched.

Steve nodded. He spoke into his comm. "Clint. Do you see the suitcase up there?"

After a moment, the archer replied, "Yeah. I got it."

"Bring it down, would you?" he said. His eyes never left Tony's.

"Sure thing," Clint said.

Tony looked mollified by this, but not a whole lot. He still looked tense and angry.

"You're probably going to need stitches on that." Natasha raised a hand to gesture to the cut above Tony's eye. He jerked away, batting her arm aside more violently than was necessary. Natasha went perfectly still, then slowly lowered her hand back to her side.

"Leave it," Tony said curtly.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the basement steps. A few moments later, Clint appeared, the silver suitcase in one hand. It was still unopened. "Here." 

"Is it all there?" Tony demanded. He staggered toward Clint. "Give it."

"It's fine," Clint said. "They couldn't get it open."

Tony ignored him. He set the suitcase down and keyed in a passcode. The case opened with a loud click.

They all stepped back in amazement as Iron Man's armor unfolded from the small suitcase. It encased Tony one section at a time, expanding as it went. The helmet came last, the smooth gold mask sliding into place. Behind it, his voice muffled, Tony said, "Run a diagnostic."

Steve could not hear JARVIS's response, but he could guess at it when Tony replied, "You, too." There was a pause, then Tony said, "We're good. Everything checks out." That time his voice was clear, although touched with the slight electronic modulation that came with being in the suit; he was on their comms now.

Steve nodded. So long as the case remained unopened, there had been little danger of the armor within being compromised. Still, it was good news, and he was glad to hear it.

Thor and Bruce came back. They both looked surprised to see Tony in the Iron Man armor. "Everything okay?" Bruce asked. He was still buttoning up the spare shirt they had brought for him.

"Yes," Steve said, defying anyone to say otherwise.

An awkward silence fell while they all simply stood there. Clint and Natasha exchanged a look. Bruce cleared his throat.

Steve said quietly, "Are you going to be able to take that off?"

"No," Tony said. But he did slide the mask up.

After another long pause, Clint just shrugged. "Well then, let's go."

One by one they filed up the basement stairs. Steve brought up the rear, Tony directly in front of him. It was blindingly obvious to him that Tony was having difficulties, even before they made it halfway up the steps. He was about to say something when Tony stumbled and dropped heavily to one knee.

The fall gave him an excuse to speak up and not sound patronizing. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just need a sec."

"No, you're not," he said. Above them, the stairs were clear; no one else could hear them. He was glad for that. He needed this chance to talk to Tony alone. Just three hours ago he had thought Tony was dead. When Natasha had given him hope, he had clung to that with all his strength. Then he had heard Tony scream, and he had been torn apart with rage and fear and the fierce need to rush in to the rescue. Now all he wanted was to hold Tony and give of his strength. The constant whiplashing back and forth between emotional extremes was enough to make him feel dizzy. "Please. Take off the armor. Let me help you."

"I told you, I can't," Tony said. The cut above his eye was bleeding again.

"Then why did you put it on?" Steve asked gently. He moved up a step so he was standing just behind Tony and to his left, as near as he could get while the armor blocked the way. "The diagnostic could have waited until we got back home."

Tony just turned his head and stared at him, breathing hard through his nose, his jaw set. As he knelt there, blood began to trickle down into his eye.

Steve could not bear it. He made an inarticulate sound and leaned forward, reaching out with one bloody glove. As he drew near, Tony shied back and surged to his feet, whirling around to face Steve. The sudden movement caused him to stagger, but somehow he kept his balance and remained standing. He also raised his right arm, the repulsor on the gauntlet whining into life.

Steve froze, very aware of how close he was to dying right now. "It's okay," he said. "I just… Here." Slowly, so slowly, he brought his hand nearer. Tony watched him warily, the white light of the repulsor steadily aimed at his head. "See? Here." Gently he ran his thumb over the trail of blood before it could run into Tony's eye. "That's all." He lowered his hand and stepped back.

Tony continued to stare at him with suspicion. And when Clint suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, and said, "Hey, what's—" Tony spun around and fired at him without hesitation.

Clint hit the deck with a terrified yelp. Steve flung himself at Tony, who immediately brought both repulsors to bear on him. They wrestled for control as they tumbled down the stairs, red armor and his shield clanking alike. They landed at the base of the steps in a tangled heap of limbs – but Steve had successfully managed to pinion Tony's arms and held his wrists crossed over his chest, where the repulsors could not fire.

"Cap!"

"Get away!" Steve shouted. "Now!" He did not look to see if Clint obeyed.

Beneath him, Tony struggled in mindless fear. The faceplate of his helmet had snapped off completely in the fall, and fresh blood ran from the cuts on his face. Steve just held on tight and said his name over and over, until at last some measure of clarity returned to his eyes and he slumped and went limp in Steve's grasp.

Steve held on for a moment longer, then released him and slowly sat up.

Tony closed his eyes.

"It's okay. We're okay," Steve said. He had been here before, his heart pounding, thankful just to be alive. He remembered grappling with one of his men for control of a rifle, wrestling in the rain and the mud while the other man was caught in the memories of a horror only he could see. It happened sometimes in war. It broke his heart that it had to happen to Tony, and here and now where everyone could see it, but he was grateful that he was at least here to help.

Noise from the top of the stairs made him glance up. They were all standing there, looking down with varying degrees of concern. He glared, and they began to shuffle off – even Clint, who was obviously unharmed from his close call.

The sight of his team reminded him that now was neither the time nor the place for talk. Still, there was something not right about this whole situation, something nagging at him that demanded he face it and acknowledge it. He just could not remember what it was.

"Are you hurt?" The fall had given him a few new bruises, but they would be healed within a day; he wasn't worried about himself.

Tony shook his head.

"Okay. You ready?" he asked.

"You should have left me," Tony said hoarsely, his eyes still closed.

Steve's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He took hold of Tony's armored hand. "Don't be an idiot," he said.

Tony opened his eyes and looked at him, and Steve reeled. He had known – of course he had known, he wasn't stupid – that Tony hated himself, but until that moment he had never realized how deep that self-loathing went. This wasn't just the result of today's horror. This was years' worth of pain slowly accumulating until little else remained.

"Tony…" He didn't know what to say, so he settled for actions instead. He stood up and hauled Tony to his feet, armor and all. "Come on. Let's go home."

Without another word, Tony followed him up the steps.

****

On the Quinjet, Tony told them that the men who had abducted him worked for the Mandarin – he had heard them talking. He also said they had not asked once about the Avengers or SHIELD. Their only focus had been the tech behind the suitcase armor. They had deliberately waited for him to leave New York, knowing he would have it with him when he traveled. His speech at the University of Toronto had been public knowledge; all they had to do was wait for the right day and time to strike.

"We'll put together a team," Natasha promised. "Go after his last known location."

"And then we'll kick his ass," Clint said darkly.

"You won't find him," Tony said. The bruises on his face were starting to darken by now, and one eye was mostly swollen shut.

"He cannot hide forever," Thor vowed.

They were nearly back in New York when Steve finally figured it out. The thing that bothered him the most about Tony's rescue. It wasn't what had happened on the stairs. That was distressing, but understandable.

It was what had come before it. When Tony first understood that he was being rescued. The first thing he said to them was not, "How did you find me?" but "Why?"

_Why did you come for me?_

****

The prisoners in SHIELD custody weren't talking, which surprised exactly no one, so Steve and Clint returned to Canada, trying to reconstruct the events there in the hope of finding a trail leading back to the Mandarin. Steve disliked being so far away from Tony, but out here he felt like he was at least contributing and doing something useful, and so he stayed.

After three days, though, it became clear that they were not going to find anything. Discouraged and frustrated, they went back to New York. The first thing Steve did after delivering his report to Director Fury was return to the Tower and look for Tony.

"Don't bother," Bruce said. He had a suitcase packed; he was on his way to Mexico City. "He's locked himself up downstairs and no one's allowed in. Not even Pepper."

"How is he?" Steve asked. He had been driving himself crazy for the last three days, imagining what Tony was going through. The need to see him, to talk to him, was overwhelming.

"Depends on who you ask," Bruce said.

The story he told was not good. Tony had refused to talk about his ordeal at first, storming out of two separate debriefings before at last consenting to speak to anyone – and then he only did so because Director Fury said he was benched until he met with the SHIELD therapist. After two sessions, however, she had thrown up her hands, declared Tony clinically insane, and said that they were through. With much grumbling, Director Fury had put Iron Man back on the roster.

"So that's where we stand," Bruce said. "If you can get him to come out, more power to you."

"I'll try," Steve promised. He had been kept busy the past three days – but the nights had been a different story. Hour after hour he had lain awake, trying to put himself in Tony's shoes, imagining how it felt to know that four innocent people had been murdered because of you. In the end, though, he could not do it. That was an agony fate had mercifully spared him, and he could not comprehend it.

It distressed him to think of Tony enduring that pain alone. He knew more about Tony Stark now than he ever had before, but he still could not understand why Tony found it so hard to accept help from others. All his life he had been dealing with things alone, with no one but some robots and a disembodied AI to bear witness to his suffering. Now he had an entire group of people who wanted to help – and still he chose isolation. It was baffling and it was frustrating and Steve had no idea what he could do to make it better.

Still, he meant to try. So it was a shock to discover the workshop was dark and empty, with Tony nowhere to be found. Steve just stood there, unable to believe his eyes. He had accepted the order to go to Canada because he had needed to be out there actively doing something to bring the Mandarin to justice – but he had _wanted_ to remain here, where he could watch over Tony and make sure he was all right.

He had another painful truth to accept: he had failed at his mission. In the tunnel that day, holding Tony in his arms, he had vowed that he would keep Tony safe. And he had not done that. The Mandarin had reached out and taken Tony and hurt him, and now, now that he was supposed to be back here where he belonged and Steve could try to make amends for his terrible failure – he was missing again.

"JARVIS, where did he go?" Tony had been down here for three days, yet Steve saw little sign that he had been actively working during that time.

"I am not authorized to answer that," JARVIS said, infuriatingly calm.

The AI could seem so human sometimes, and yet now Steve had to wonder just how genuine those "feelings" were. Did JARVIS not remember their conversation the day Tony was abducted? Did Steve's confession mean nothing to him? "Damnit, JARVIS," he said. "Please. This is me. Just me. You know I don't want to hurt him. I just need to know that he's all right."

"I cannot tell you where Mr. Stark is," JARVIS said. "But I can assure you there is no need to worry over his physical well-being."

That gave Steve pause. JARVIS could be surprisingly sly. Or maybe it wasn't surprising at all, given that he had been created and programmed by Tony Stark. "And his emotional well-being?"

"I am not authorized to answer that," JARVIS said – but there was a hint of approval in those smooth English tones, telling him that he was on the right track.

He tried to think of what his next question should be, and JARVIS saved him. "I believe Mr. Stark's location is no longer a secret." One of the computer screens came to life, tuned to CNN.

Steve walked over so he could see better, and his breath caught. There on the screen, was Tony. Bruised and battered, wearing a dark, somber suit. Standing behind a podium and a rack of microphones.

The press conference was short and to the point. Tony praised the bravery of the four people who had died aboard his private plane when it was hijacked and deliberately crashed. He also said he intended to create charitable funds for each of the victims' families, and confirmed that he would be attending all four funerals.

Steve watched all this and felt his throat close up.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Can you please let me know the moment Tony comes back?"

"I can," JARVIS said. "However Mr. Stark's order that he is not to be disturbed remains in effect."

"That's fine," Steve said, although it really wasn't. "I just want to know he's here, that's he's safe."

Once Tony came back, Steve wasn't ever going to let him out of his sight again. And he was going to find a way to let Tony know how he felt. He still barely understood it himself – but he was not going to remain silent.

Not anymore.

****

JARVIS kept his word and informed Steve when Tony returned to the Avengers Tower early the next afternoon. Steve was in the gym then, flat on his back lifting weights. He hurried to put them away and wipe off the sweat, then went down to the workshop.

Fast as he was, Natasha still beat him there. As Steve trotted up, he heard her saying, "…sighted in Beijing just four days ago."

He came closer and saw Tony standing in the doorway. He was unshaven and the bruises on his face were now sick shades of green and yellow. He reeked of alcohol, but there was only grim determination in his eyes. "So why are we just standing here talking about it?"

Natasha looked over at Steve. Neither she nor Tony looked particularly surprised to see him standing there.

What else could he do? He nodded. "Assemble."

****

Naturally they didn't find the Mandarin in Beijing. They did find his latest hideout, however, and they destroyed everything they could, including an Iron Man prototype that was frighteningly close to the real thing. But that was all they found, and eventually they had to give up and return to New York.

Steve was ready to intervene if Tony showed signs of walling himself up in the workshop again. Instead he was surprised when nearly an hour after their return, JARVIS asked him if he would please meet Tony in the penthouse.

His first thought – oddly guilty and completely nonsensical – was, _He knows_!

It took only a few seconds of rational thought to prove to himself that this could not be true. He had barely spent more than five minutes alone with Tony since that night of his dream about Doom's monster. He could not have betrayed his secret. How could he, when he had only just realized the truth about that revelation?

Which made Tony's request all the more mysterious. After the incident in the tunnels, he had declared his intention of being friends, but he had certainly not acted like it. For his part, Tony appeared to have forgotten all about it. He could hardly be looking to confide in Steve now.

It was late when the elevator doors opened on the penthouse floor; behind the glass windows he could see the lights of New York's skyline, and barely glimpsed behind it, a thin sliver of moon. Tony was standing in front of the window, a drink in one hand, his back to Steve. When he heard the soft chime of the elevator, he turned around.

On the journey to and from Beijing, he had been focused on the task of finding the Mandarin; he had managed to keep all other thoughts at bay during those long hours. But now just one single glance at Tony was all it took for Steve to know that what he had felt that day in the locker room was very real, and not just grief. His stomach flip-flopped, and his heart skipped a beat, and his skin suddenly felt hot all over. His arms twitched at his sides, wanting to open wide and enclose Tony in a fierce embrace, protecting him from all the wrong in this world and preventing him from knowing any more pain. It was crazy and it was stupid and it was so, so wrong…and yet he had never felt such a strong certainty of _right_ before.

"You okay there, Cap? You look a little overwhelmed." Tony sounded a little bit amused, a little bit concerned, and a little bit confused. Steve wondered how much he had had to drink already.

To cover up his own turbulent emotions, he said quickly, "I forgot what an amazing view you have up here."

Tony looked even more bewildered for a split second, then he sort of shrugged. "Yeah. Turns out I really _can_ see my house from here." He made a vague gesture at the window.

Steve approached slowly, not daring to move any faster. The wild urge to hug Tony was still on him. "Your house?"

Tony gave him a lightly mocking smile. Steve was close enough now to see the thin line above his eye where he had been cut. The mark on his throat was slightly more visible; that one might scar, the doctor had said. He was dressed simply in a dark gray T-shirt and jeans. The light of the arc reactor glowed through the thin fabric of the shirt. "What, did you think I grew up in this place? I built this Tower. Remember?"

It took an effort to look away from him and study the skyline. "I guess I never thought about it."

Tony gestured with his free hand. "Somewhere that-a-way. On Fifth."

Steve said nothing at first. He had known that Howard Stark lived in New York after the war. He supposed he had even known that Tony had grew up here. But he had never put it together, never once wondered why Tony chose to live in the Tower instead of his childhood home, or why he had relocated to California upon inheriting Stark Industries.

"How many houses do you have?" he asked.

"Oh. Well." Tony shrugged. "A lot."

"Where are they?" he asked. He wasn't interested so much in the actual answer as he was in buying himself enough time to control his racing heart.

Tony made a face. "Really? You want a count? Okay, let's see. There's here. Malibu. London. Two in London, actually. Paris. Berlin. Vienna. Beautiful city. Um. Moscow. Don't go there very often anymore. Dubai. Shanghai. Tokyo. Sydney. I hear that one's particularly nice. Um."

"Wait," Steve said, his attention caught in spite of himself. "You hear? You haven't been there?"

Tony drank from his glass. "Nope."

"Then why have it?" he asked.

Tony shrugged again. He still stood facing the window and the view, only occasionally glancing over at Steve. "What if I do go there someday? I'll need a place to stay."

His complete lack of comprehension about money was maddening. Most people struggled to hold onto just one house, and here Tony was, keeping them as insurance purposes for a day that might never even come. "You know people all over the world. Couldn't you just stay with one of them?"

Tony winced. "No." He drew out the word doubtfully. "That's a bad idea. See if I were to stay with someone, right away they would start thinking two things. First, that I'm their new best friend. And second, that I owe them something in return. Then later they would try to call in this imaginary favor they think they're owed. And that's just embarrassing."

"For them, or for you?"

Tony looked surprised. "Why would I be embarrassed about that?"

Steve just shook his head. "So instead you have a house you never even see. Just in case. It sounds kind of lonely, if you ask me."

Tony gave him a sharp look. "Yeah, well, no one asked you."

"There's no need to get defensive about it," Steve said. He had had enough of these types of conversations with Tony before to know that he was wasting his breath, though. Already it was probably too late to recover – and there was still the question of why he had asked Steve up here in the first place.

"Am I getting defensive? Who's getting defensive? I'm not getting defensive."

"I think you are," Steve pointed out.

"I think you're full of shit," Tony snapped back. "You don't know the first thing about me and my lifestyle."

"I know I wouldn't want it," Steve said.

Tony opened his mouth to retort, then closed it with a snap. He shook his head, then scrubbed at his face with one hand. "Well. That settles that, then."

"Settles what?" Steve asked uncertainly. He had the strangest sensation that he had just walked right off a cliff. He just hadn't started falling yet.

Tony finally turned to face him. "I always thought you were too good to be true. Now I know for sure. Thanks for the enlightenment, Cap. It's been real." He stuck out his hand.

Steve stared at him. "What are you talking about? What are you… Are you leaving? What's with this?" He gestured to Tony's still-outstretched hand.

Tony just stared at him stonily.

"Talk to me!" Steve said, too loud. He could not explain why he suddenly felt close to panic. "I don't understand what the hell just happened."

With a sharp sigh, Tony lowered his hand. "You said – your words, may I remind you, not mine – that you hoped we could be friends. And God help me, I bought into that. You know how long it's been since I fell for that one?" He was getting steadily more worked up. "Now you're saying you don't want it. You want out. Well, that's great. Have a nice life, Rogers. Go fuck yourself." He drew himself up. "You've got about two minutes to get out of here before JARVIS demonstrates what a real security system is." He pointed toward the elevator.

Steve was stunned. He had been on the receiving end of Tony's temper before, but never like this. He had never imagined such bitter vitriol would be aimed at his head. And the hell of it was, he still didn't understand what he had done to deserve it.

What made it worse was Tony's reference to the conversation they had had the day after they first discovered Hydra's underground lair. It was almost unbelievable that Tony had carried those words around with him all this time. That he had – apparently – considered Steve a friend. But that could be the only explanation for why he was so angry right now. 

Steve had no idea what he was supposed to do. He could leave, as Tony wanted. Or he could stick around and try to work through this and figure out how things had gone so spectacularly wrong so fast.

It wasn't really much of a choice. The only problem was, he didn't know how to make Tony agree to hear him out. In the mood he was in, he was more likely to get into the Iron Man armor and shoot him than talk to him.

Still, he had to try. "Won't you at least tell me what I did? I don't understand why you're mad at me." He had a suspicion, though, that Tony's anger wasn't meant for him. It made no sense, for one thing. And for another, it had happened too fast, this sudden explosion of fury and bitterness. This was not the result of something Steve had said. No, this storm had been brewing for a long time.

"Is it the Mandarin?" That had to be it, he thought. That and their failure today to apprehend the villain. On the flight back from China, Tony had been visibly on edge the whole time. Steve had chalked it up then to nerves and disappointment…but suppose it was something else?

"Yes," Tony said. Then swiftly, "No. Yes. No, I'm not _talking_ about this with you." He stalked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. That was not good, but at least he was no longer ordering Steve to get out, which was something.

"What _did_ you want to talk to me about then?" Steve asked. He sat down on one of the black leather couches, making it clear that he was here to stay.

A faraway look entered Tony's eyes. He set the bottle of whiskey on the bar with surprising gentleness – and Steve heard the rattle as glass jittered on the counter, betraying the way Tony's hand was shaking. "I promised the kid," he said.

Steve said nothing. He had no idea what Tony was talking about.

The silence drew out between them. Tony stood behind the bar, staring at nothing. Just when Steve thought he was going to have to prompt him to continue, he said, "He loves Captain America. My pilot's son. He's seven. I promised him you would visit." He looked up at Steve, his eyes filled with dark defiance, challenging Steve to say no.

"Of course I will," Steve said instantly. He wanted there to be no doubt of his willingness to follow through with the promise Tony had made on his behalf. "I have the parade in a few days, but as soon as that's done, I'll go. You just tell me when and where."

Tony nodded, a jerky motion of his head, and drank deeply from his glass.

Steve looked aside, giving Tony a few moments to collect himself. He didn't look up again until he heard the sound of Tony pouring himself another drink.

"Do you think you should be doing that?" he started to ask, and actually got as far as "Do you—" when Tony blurted, "I think I really fucked up."

"How?" Steve asked. He definitely did not like the look in Tony's eyes right then.

"I never should have said who I was," Tony said. "I should have… I never… Those people. On my plane. They would still be alive. If the world didn't know I was Iron Man."

Steve thought about this. "You can't know that," he said.

"I do know it," Tony said. He was staring at nothing again, seeing something not in this room.

"No," Steve said. "You can't. Tony, there's probably only a handful of people in this world who can do the things you do. Who are smart enough. If you hadn't told the world that you were Iron Man, sooner or later they would have figured it out. And those people would still be dead, no matter if your secret came out two years ago, or two weeks ago."

"Everyone around me is in danger," Tony said, relentless in his logic. "Everyone who works for me. Everyone I care about." He gulped down half his drink.

"That could be said for all of us," Steve pointed out.

"What good is it," Tony said dully, "if you can't protect people? Why bother with any of it? Iron Man. Captain America. Why bother, if you all do is get people killed instead of saving them?"

Steve didn't know what to say to that. His every instinct told him that it was the right thing to do, that no matter how hard it was you did it anyway, because for every person that died, you saved two others. You did it because you had to. Because you had no other choice.

"I should have known this was never going to work," Tony said bitterly, "when I got the very first person who ever believed in me killed."

Abruptly he understood what was going on. It was like that day in the tunnel again. Tony was trying to tell him something without actually coming out and saying it. Very carefully, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, Steve said, "Who was that?"

Tony stared into the depths of his drink for a long time. He drained the glass, then stood up. "Wait here."

He was gone quite a while, long enough for Steve to wonder if Tony had escaped into one of his many workshops, leaving him up here alone. He thought about making himself a drink, but there was no point to it; he could not get drunk, nor did he want to. He did find some water bottles in a refrigerator behind the bar, and he helped himself to one of those, then sat back down on the couch.

Only half the water remained in the bottle when Tony returned. He was holding a photograph. As he passed by, he offered it to Steve. "Here."

Steve took it, noticing how dog-eared it was, like it had been handled often. "Where did you get this?"

Tony stiffened, then sauntered casually over to the bar. He poured himself another drink.

The man in the photograph was middle-aged and almost handsome. He wore glasses and a neatly pressed suit. He was smiling broadly, standing in what looked like a hotel lobby. There were other people standing around or caught in mid-stride. Many of them, like the man in glasses, were holding blue folders. A black marquee sign was visible just over the man's shoulder. A woman was standing in front of it, blocking most of the sign, but Steve could still read the last bit of each line: "1999, -peaker, -ny Stark."

Steve looked up. "Who is he?"

"His name was Yinsen," Tony said.

He did not miss the use of the past tense. "You were there, too. Some kind of conference," he guessed, judging by the setting. "Did you meet him there?"

"Something like that." Tony remained standing at the bar, his back to Steve.

There were too many variables here, too many unknowns. He could not guess at them all. "So who was he?"

Tony turned around. He held his drink in both hands, clutching at it, almost. There was something terrible in his eyes, something Steve could not identify. He only knew it scared the hell out of him.

"I can't believe I'm standing here telling you this," Tony said. "I must be out of my mind. Well, that's what everyone says and usually they're pretty much right, but today it's baffling even me, and really, why the _hell_ did you have to come up here? Why couldn't you have just left me alone?"

Steve did not point out that Tony had invited him up here. He had come to realize that Tony only babbled like that when he was faced with an unexpected rush of genuine emotion and trying to hide it. He half-expected more of that stream-of-consciousness outpouring, but to his surprise, nearly a full minute of silence fell between them before Tony spoke again.

"This thing." Tony rapped his knuckles on the arc reactor in his chest. "No one ever asks me who put it there. They all just assume the bad guys did it, which would be stupid, or else that I somehow managed to perform open-heart surgery on myself, which is even more ridiculous." He looked at Steve with a silent plea.

_No one ever asks._

Steve asked, "Who put the arc reactor in?"

Tony flashed him a quick, humorless grin. "I did. But what came first, _he_ did." He pointed at the photograph Steve was still holding. "He saved my life. Sometimes I hate him for that."

Steve's mind went blank. He was in way over his head here and he knew it. It was like that night when Tony had told Steve that he hated _him_. But this time Tony was not drunk – not yet, at any rate. And tomorrow, they would both remember every moment of this conversation.

"He should have just…waited," Tony said. He wasn't really talking to Steve anymore. His eyes were unfocused, his fingers white where they gripped the glass. "I told him to wait. To follow me. There was enough time. Maybe. I don't know. He took it into his head to run off like that, to buy me time, he said. If he had just… _waited_." Tony's breath came in ragged little bursts. "He wanted to die, though. He would have done it anyway. He would have found a way. 'I want this,' he said. There wasn't anything I could do. I couldn't stop him. It wasn't my fault." He looked up at Steve, unshed tears shining in his eyes, desperate to convince himself of what he knew to be false.

"I got him killed. He saved my life and I got him killed. It was my fault. Tell me. Say it. Say it to my face. I know it was."

Steve stood up. He felt numb all over. He had never heard any of this before; none of the details about Tony's escape from that cave in Afghanistan were in his file. And none of them mattered. The only thing that mattered then was what Tony was going through right here and now, the death of Yinsen mingled with the deaths of the people on his plane, no longer thought of as isolated incidents but merged into one horrible untruth. "Tony."

"Say it!" Tony shouted. "He saved my life! And I let them kill him. It was my fault. Say it!"

Steve took a deep breath. "It wasn't your fault."

Tony stared at him in disbelieving fury. A snarl of hatred drew his features down. In one swift move, he threw his glass at Steve.

His aim was deadly. Steve had to leap aside to avoid being hit. Behind him, the glass struck the couch he had just been sitting on. He heard it land, then nothing, until a sudden shattering told him it had rolled off the cushion and onto the floor.

"It wasn't your fault," Steve said again.

"Get out," Tony said between clenched jaws.

"No," Steve said. He took a step forward. "Tony, it wasn't your fault. You did everything you could. I know you did."

"You—"

For once, he raised his voice and talked over Tony, silencing the other man. "I know _you_ ," he said. "You never leave anything to chance. Your plan would have worked. I know it would have. But Yinsen made his own plans too. You said he wanted to die. There's nothing you could have done about that. You have to stop blaming yourself."

"No," Tony said. He bowed his head and covered his eyes with his left hand, thumb and forefinger pressing deeply into his temples. He drew in a shaky breath, then set his jaw.

All Steve wanted then was to go to him and offer whatever comfort he could. He wanted to hold Tony and tell him that it wasn't his fault, he wasn't responsible for Yinsen's death any more than he was responsible for the people on that plane. He wanted to tell Tony that he did not deserve to torture himself, that he was not a bad person because those things had happened.

And if it had been anyone else, he _would_ have done it. But he knew that Tony would not believe him if he tried. He had seen the terrible look in Tony's eyes that day in Toronto, and the depth of the self-hatred he carried around. Nothing he said would convince Tony that he was not to blame for Yinsen and the people aboard that plane. 

Though it was very hard, Steve made himself sit down again.

For long minutes the only sound in the room was the gentle susurrus of the central heating. Steve bent down and began to carefully pick up the pieces of broken glass from the floor.

"Leave it," Tony said hoarsely. He did not lower his hand from his eyes.

Steve continued cleaning up the mess. There was a trash can behind the bar, but using it would mean approaching Tony, and he could not do that just yet. Instead he laid the broken pieces on the coffee table so he would remember to throw them away later.

"Tell me about him," Steve invited. "About Yinsen."

Tony swallowed hard. Steve could only see the lower half of his face, but it was enough to tell that he was not crying. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he couldn't help feeling relieved. He was definitely not ready to deal with that.

"He almost beat me one day in backgammon," Tony said. "Not many people ever came even that close." He smiled a little, then dropped his hand. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light. In those few seconds his face was unguarded, and Steve could see the depths of his guilt and misery.

"I don't know how long he was there before I came. He didn't talk about it, and I didn't ask. He was a brilliant engineer. It was his idea to use the electromagnet to keep the shrapnel out of my heart. I think he hated having to hook up something so elegant to a car battery. It was just so…crude. It went against his principles." Tony smiled wryly, lost in memory.

Steve was glad Tony wasn't looking at him then. He could not believe what he had just heard. A _car battery_ , dear God. When he thought about Tony having to carry something like that around, tethered to it like a dog on a leash, holding it while they shoved his head underwater and tortured him… It made his hands curl into fists of rage.

Tony's smile slowly disappeared. "When they first told me to build their missile, I said no, and Yinsen leaped right in there. He beat the crap out of me, told me I was only alive because of their generosity. He said I was nothing. He was trying to protect me. He knew what they would do when I said no. I was just too stupid to realize it." The bleak guilt returned to his eyes. "The last thing he said to me was, 'Don't waste your life.'"

Tony looked at him then, silently daring him to agree, _wanting_ him to say it.

"I'd say you've proven him right," Steve said. "You have the money and the brains to do anything you want. And look what you've done." He could see though that his sincerity was only having the opposite effect he had intended – Tony was shutting him out already, allowing his bitter self-loathing to take over.

Recklessly he changed tactics. "You created this amazing thing with Iron Man. And now you're playing for a team that includes a ninety-year old popsicle, a one-eyed lunatic, and a man who calls himself a god. That's not bad. Not bad at all."

Unwillingly, Tony chuckled. He seemed annoyed by his own laughter, though, and immediately he scowled again. "It's not enough."

"It never will be," Steve agreed. "How do you think I feel, knowing I survived when everyone I knew is dead? I can't ever make up for that." He understood all too well how it felt to wonder why he was still alive when so many others were dead. "It's not going to stop me from trying, though."

Tony cocked his head slightly. "Huh. I never figured you for the brooding type."

"There's a lot about me you don't know," Steve said quietly.

"I'm getting that," Tony said. "Who knew? Captain America has layers." He sounded almost normal then, and Steve let himself hope that the worst of the crisis was over.

"One thing you should know about me," he said, "is that I never break my promises. I told you once that I wanted us to be friends, and I meant that. When I said that I didn't want your lifestyle, all I meant was, I don't want to be a billionaire. It doesn't mean we can't still be friends."

Tony stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I know."

"You know?" Steve questioned.

"Yeah." Tony had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed. "I did figure it out. Just, you know, not right away."

"Okay then," Steve said. "So we're cool?"

"Sure," Tony said quickly, if a bit dubiously. He turned around and reached for the bottle of whiskey.

"Don't," Steve said. "Don't do that."

Tony gave him an irritated look over his shoulder, then went right on pouring his drink. He capped the bottle. "My house, my rules."

If he went on drinking like this after a day that included two flights to China and a battle with some of the Mandarin's agents, he was going to make himself sick. Maybe that was even what he wanted. Either way, Steve could not allow it. Quickly he cast about for something to divert him. "Hey, why don't we go to Sydney?"

Tony arched an eyebrow.

"You've never been there, I've never been there. Why not?"

Tony gave him a look that said he was absolutely crazy. Then he tossed back his drink and shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

****

Steve had thought they might talk on the trip to Sydney. Instead, Tony fell asleep twenty minutes into the flight.

They had to rent a jet; the nearest Stark Industries plane was in Washington DC. Even if there had been one in New York, they wouldn't have taken it. Without discussing it, Steve was still pretty sure that Tony's days of blithely flying around on his own private plane were over. JARVIS knew who to call, though, and within half an hour of the decision to go to Sydney, a sleek silver car arrived to pick them up and take them to the airport.

The rented jet was also sleek and silver, and it was obscenely luxurious. The interior was fancier than most houses, and filled with everything a man could possibly need. Before they even took off, a stewardess – er, flight attendant – poured them drinks and told them to call her if they needed anything. As she sashayed off, she gave them a smile so loaded with meaning even Steve could not fail to notice, and he flushed.

For the first twenty minutes of the flight, he busied himself just looking around. It would be easy to get used to this lifestyle, he thought ruefully. To expect all your wishes fulfilled, and never lack for anything. He tried to imagine growing up in this environment, and failed utterly.

When he finished looking through the list of movies and TV shows available on the in-flight entertainment, he turned around in his seat, looking for Tony. "Did you see—?"

He stopped and shook his head. Tony was lying face down on one of the red velvet couches that lined the main cabin of the plane. One arm hung straight down, his knuckles brushing the carpet. He was still wearing the silly sunglasses he had put on when they left the Tower, despite the fact that it was almost eleven o'clock at night. And he was deeply asleep.

Steve allowed himself a few moments to just stare. He thought of that night he and Tony had talked, the night Tony had drunkenly admitted to hating him, the night Steve had put him to bed and kissed him. He could get up now and kiss him again – and he wanted to, very badly, but he worried if he did, Tony would wake up, and he _didn't_ want that. Not only would he have to explain himself, which he was not at all ready to do, but he wanted Tony to sleep while he could; he had a feeling that Tony hadn't slept much, if at all, since his ordeal.

Left to his own devices then, he went exploring. The plane had an incredible library, filled with books and magazines in a dozen different languages. He spent some time browsing through the selection before finding a book he wanted to read. He brought it back to his seat and settled in.

About an hour later, just as the book was getting really good, he heard Tony make a startled noise. He marked his place with the dinner menu he had been given previously, and twisted around in his seat.

Tony was still sleeping, but he was obviously dreaming – and of nothing good. Steve pressed his lips into a thin line. He was pretty sure this was going to end badly.

Tony made that noise again, the sound of someone in great fear. His head jerked to one side, and his hand scrabbled at the floor. 

He should do something, Steve thought. Make a loud noise, or give Tony's shoulder a hard shake. Anything to wake him. He got out of his seat and started forward.

No sooner had he taken that first step, than Tony woke with a short cry of terror. He sat up, first flailing at his face and knocking the sunglasses to the floor, then clutching at his chest. Only when he had physical hold of the arc reactor did he seem to come fully awake; he bowed his head and closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control again.

Frozen into stillness, Steve said nothing. 

Without a word, or even acknowledging him, Tony got up and walked toward the back of the plane. His gait was unsteady, and one hand still cradled the arc reactor. He shut himself in the lavatory, and the overhead sign came on.

Steve let out a long, slow breath. He returned to his seat. After a while, he picked up his book, but the words blurred on the page and there was no way he could read.

Were they all this messed up, he wondered sadly. He himself still dreamed regularly of losing Bucky, and his last flight and that long swan dive into the Arctic ice. He knew Bruce had nightmares of losing control and hurting them, and he had heard Natasha tell Clint once that she couldn't stop seeing it in her dreams – whatever "it" was. He could only pray the nightmare Tony had just experienced was not common, and was only a product of the day's events and the conversation they had shared just before leaving New York.

Maybe it was part of being a hero. Maybe it was the cost of fighting on the side of right. Or maybe it was _because_ they were all so broken inside that they did this. Surely a normal person would not dream of volunteering for a secret project to inject themselves with an unknown serum. Normal people went to work and got married and had kids and lived uneventful lives.

Once upon a time he had thought he wanted those things too. Maybe he still did. He didn't know. The only thing he knew for certain was that being Captain America, being an Avenger, being with Tony Stark, were the only things that made him happy anymore. He could not give them up.

Tony was gone a long time, but when he came back, his eyes were clear and he was calm. "You hungry? Want something to eat?"

Astonished, Steve just stared at him. The longer he spent with Tony, the more he was beginning to think he was never going to understand the man and how his mind worked. 

"Well?" Tony held one earpiece of his sunglasses between his thumb and forefinger and spun them idly. 

In fact he was not hungry, having eaten a large dinner after their return from China, but he was not about to say so. "Sure. I put the menu somewhere…"

"Forget that," Tony said with an airy wave. "I'll make something." He started toward the galley at the back of the plane.

"Wait," Steve said as he unbuckled his seat belt and followed. "This isn't your plane. You can't just… Are we allowed back here?"

Tony checked his stride for about half a second. Then he just shrugged. "Why not? You know how much it costs to charter a plane like this? I don't either, but you can bet it's not cheap. But this--" he began opening cabinets and peering inside – "is what my money pays for. Being able to do what I want."

The constantly-broke kid from Brooklyn he had once been wanted to argue that, but he made himself stay silent. There was no point to it.

One of the elegant stewardesses – flight attendants, oops – poked her head in the galley. "Can I help you, Mr. Stark?"

"Just making an omelet," Tony said with a bright smile. "That okay with you, honey?"

If she took offense at being called "honey" by a perfect stranger, the woman did not show it. She just smiled. "Whatever you like. Let me know if you need anything." Then she was gone, leaving them alone in the galley.

Tony had already assembled a pile of ingredients. Steve was surprised. "So. You cook?"

"A little, yeah." Tony shut one cabinet and started to reach for another, then stopped when he saw the look on Steve's face. "What? I'm not allowed to have surprising moments of domesticity? I'm told it adds to my charm and sex appeal. Not that I need to. Add to it, that is."

Steve chuckled. "Oh, well, if that's the case. No, I'm just surprised. Cooking doesn't exactly fit the profile of your other interests."

"Sure it does," Tony said. "Cooking's no different than inventing. You just need to see what you want to make, gather the right materials, know the amounts you need of each, then do the math."

Now Steve laughed outright. "Do the math. I never thought of it that way."

"Yeah?" Tony grinned as he grabbed a pan. "I should have my own cooking TV show." His eyes widened as inspiration struck. "Or, I could just have a TV show. I should do that. I should totally do that." He pointed at Steve. "Remind me of that when we get back."

"'Cause that's what you need," Steve teased. "Another reason to go in front of the camera."

"Well, you know me," Tony said. "Any excuse will do."

****

Tony's omelet turned out to be quite good, and although he was not really hungry, Steve ate with enthusiasm. He lost his appetite, though, when Tony said, "I made this for Pepper once." He gazed out the window at the night sky. "It didn't quite work out. Word of advice: omelets and speeches about how you're dying do not go hand in hand."

Steve almost choked. "You were _what_?"

Tony gave him an arch look. "Again with the not-knowing?"

"I—" He fumbled to a halt. "I didn't know."

"I can see that," Tony said dryly. "Not that it matters. Not dying anymore." He tapped the arc reactor. "New ticker. Sort of. Which reminds me. One of these days I really need to study your shield."

Steve blinked, unable to keep up with the rapid change of subject. "My shield? Why?"

"Lots of reasons," Tony said. "But let's just say that I have a vested interest in learning all I can about vibranium."

Steve looked at the arc reactor, then back up at Tony. He hesitated before speaking, afraid to even say the name aloud. But Tony had brought it up, and surely he knew… "Howard said the metal that made it was so rare he used all of it for the shield."

Tony smiled a little. He managed to look both proud and sad at the same time. "Not anymore."

Steve just nodded, and said no more. The subject of Howard was still too sensitive. Most likely they would never be able to talk about it. He was sorry for that. He had a feeling that Tony might actually like to hear some of the stories he could tell about Howard Stark, although he sadly doubted the opposite would be true. Still, he was glad that they had obviously come far from that awful day in Tony's workshop – he was pretty sure Tony didn't hate him anymore.

They resumed eating in a silence that was a bit uncomfortable. Steve had to force himself to finish the last few bites of his omelet, and by the look on Tony's face, he wasn't faring much better.

Outside the sky was black. His body clock told him he had been awake for two days straight now, but Steve did not feel very tired. He could go a lot longer than this before he felt the effects of sleep deprivation. Tony, on the other hand, could not. And he was still recovering from his ordeal in Canada.

He sighed a little as he put down his fork. There was no question now of telling Tony how he felt. He would do it, of course, but when the moment was right. Maybe he would get the chance in Sydney. Or when they returned to New York. _Before_ Tony holed himself up in the workshop with Steve's shield, using that new research as an excuse to hide away again.

He said, "I want to be there when you do it."

Tony had been gazing out the window. He had gone very pale, no doubt thinking about things best left alone. Now he gave Steve a look of bafflement. "When I do what?"

"My shield," Steve clarified. "I want to be there when you work on it. I don't trust you with it."

"Good call," Tony said. "I wouldn't trust me, either." He smirked, but it was only a weak imitation of his usual mocking response.

Steve couldn't help it. "You okay?"

"Sure," Tony said. He picked up his plate. "Better put these away."

Spoiled billionaires like Tony Stark did not clean up after themselves. Deeply suspicious, Steve grabbed his plate and fork and followed him to the galley.

One of the flight attendants was there, making some coffee. She looked surprised to see them. "Let me help you with that, Mr. Stark."

"No trouble," Tony said with a big smile. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow.

Steve knew what was coming – he'd seen it often enough in wartime. He grabbed the plate out of Tony's hands just in time.

Tony's smile became a sick grimace. He shoved the woman aside, leaned over the sink, and vomited up everything he had just eaten.

The flight attendant's initial offended squawk turned into an exclamation of disgust. She bolted. Steve set both plates down on a little rolling cart that stood at the back of the galley, and laid a hand on Tony's back. "Better now?"

Tony just stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, breathing heavily through his mouth, his complexion still ashen. Tears stood in his eyes, but they were a physical reaction only. Or so Steve hoped.

Later he could come back and clean up. Right now he just wanted to get Tony out of there. "Come on," he said gently. He tugged at Tony's arm.

Tony stumbled along beside him on unsteady legs. When they passed the lavatory, he veered off and went inside.

The lavatory was nearly as large as Steve's bathroom at the Avengers Tower. He stood in the doorway, strangely unwilling to let Tony out of his sight. Once more he was struck with the horrible feeling that he was failing at his new mission.

Tony turned on the faucet with a badly shaking hand, splashed some water on his face, then rinsed his mouth. He patted his face dry with a towel, then let it drop carelessly to the floor. In the mirror, he caught Steve's gaze, then hastily looked away. Any other time, he would have already made half a dozen snarky comments by now about Steve watching him in the bathroom. Today he just mutely followed Steve from the lavatory and down the main cabin. His docility was frightening, and it left Steve on edge, waiting for something else bad to happen.

Steve had meant to lead them back to their seats, but Tony stopped in front of the red velvet couch. He made to sit down, but instead his backside just kind of slid along the edge of the seat and he plopped down on the floor. Immediately he pulled his knees up and crossed his forearms on them. It was a defensive posture if ever Steve had seen one. "God. Sorry."

"It's okay," Steve said. "It happens." He did not add that it especially happened if a person had eaten something rich after drinking heavily – and that was after a long day of trying to find the man responsible for kidnapping you, torturing you, and killing innocent people in your name.

Tony's hands were still trembling. He kept his eyes lowered. "I couldn't… I thought…"

Steve sat down beside him and pretended not to notice the way Tony flinched back. "It's okay. You've had one hell of a day."

"I thought I could handle it better than this," Tony mumbled. He drew in a shaky breath. Then he looked up at Steve. "Can I tell you something? I want to tell you something. God knows why, but I do. Can I tell you, and you won't go spilling it to Pepper or Fury or the press?"

"You can tell me anything. I won't repeat it," Steve said, although he worried what he was about to hear if such a dire oath was required. And it bothered him that Tony would require his promise not to speak to the press – as if that was something he would ever even consider doing. Either he truly did not know Steve at all, or else his mistrust in people was so ingrained that he couldn't help himself from making such a request.

"Cross your heart and hope to die, and all that," Tony sighed. He tipped his head back against the edge of the seat.

"Sometimes I wake up and I don't know where I am. I think _this_ is the dream. Or it's just some very vivid, very real hallucination my brain conjured up as an escape mechanism because I couldn't handle it. I came up with the idea for the arc reactor that way, you know. They were holding me under and I couldn't…I couldn't _breathe_ …and there it was. Just flashed in front of my eyes, and I knew instantly how to miniaturize it and build it and make it work for me. And sometimes…I think…that's still happening. Those little flashes. This life. This reality. And any second now they're going to pull me out and tell me to build their missile, and…I'm going to say yes, because I can't…I can't… I'm scared I'm going to die. If I don't say yes they're going to forget to pull me out and I'll die and I can't…" He stammered to a halt, remembering a horror Steve could not even imagine.

He had never been so grateful for silence in his life. He literally could not have listened to another word of that awful speech. He was sorry then that the Ten Rings was gone. He wanted to hunt them all down and destroy them. His rage was so fearsome he almost found himself longing for a way to release it, like Bruce could.

He said quietly, "But you didn't die."

Tony shook his head rapidly. He was close to tears, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

The moment had finally come. Steve supposed it had been inevitable from the second Tony chose to tell him about Yinsen, bringing those memories to the forefront of his mind. "It's okay, you know," he said. "You're allowed to cry. We all do it."

Tony just made a scoffing sound, even as the tears welled up.

"Even me," Steve said. He reached out a hand, and Tony turned, not toward him, but away. He folded his arms on the edge of the red velvet couch and bowed his head onto them. When he finally let himself cry, it was in near-silence, with only an occasional helpless hitching of his breath to give him away.

Pity wrenched Steve's heart. Who had taught him to cry like that? Why did he reject comfort even now, when he needed it the most?

_Howard, my friend, I will always love you, but you have much to answer for._

Twice he placed a supportive hand on Tony's back, and twice Tony shrugged him off. The third time, Tony finally allowed it, and Steve let his hand settle there like a warm weight, pressing gently between his shoulders. He splayed his fingers, then closed them, making the gesture over and over in a soothing motion.

Tony cried for a long time. Or maybe it just seemed that way to Steve. He hated feeling this way, his insides churning with anger and pity and the terrible frustration that came from not knowing how to help. This was worse than that day in the tunnel; at least then he had known what to do. Here he just felt completely useless.

At last Tony calmed down. "Okay," he said, his voice muffled by his arms. "Okay."

Steve did not move, nor stop that repetitive caressing motion.

"I said, _okay_." Tony sat up, twisting around so Steve's hand slid off his back. "Jeez." He gave Steve a glare only slightly mitigated by the redness of his eyes. "I'm not some wilting flower, you know."

"I know," Steve said, keeping it light. When Tony continued to glare at him, he added, "But if you're expecting me to apologize for caring about my friends, you're going to have a very long wait."

" _Are_ we friends?" Tony asked pointedly.

Steve nodded, more certain than ever that this was not the time to tell Tony he loved him. "I'd say we are."

Tony considered this. Then he shrugged one shoulder. "Okay. I guess we're friends."

Steve smiled. "I guess so."

****

Approaching footsteps woke him up.

He blinked sleep out of his eyes and picked up his head. A stewardess – darn it, flight attendant – stood a respectful distance away. "We'll be landing soon, sir. You'll need to take your seats."

Steve nodded, and she retreated.

Carefully he looked around. He was stretched out on his stomach on the floor beside the red couch, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. A heavy yet comfortable weight was spread across the flat of his right shoulder. By lying perfectly still and craning his neck, he was able to see the arm dangling off the couch, and a dark head of hair.

Sudden warmth filled him. He wished he would have woken up sooner, so he could have lain here like this, Tony's hand resting on his shoulder. It made him feel like he had done something right for once, merely by being here.

After Tony had cried himself out, they had not talked much. He did remember urging Tony to get some sleep, and Tony saying he didn't need it, even though every line of his body was slumped with exhaustion by then. Steve had sat on the floor, his back to the couch, and made some totally stupid remark about having his back, and Tony raised his eyes heavenward and shook his head, but a little while after that he lay down on the couch, and it wasn't long after that that he was fast asleep.

Vaguely Steve remembered thinking that it would be more comfortable if he lay down rather than stay sitting on the floor. He must have fallen asleep then, despite himself.

Slowly he sat up. Tony's hand slid off his shoulder and thumped on the floor. His brow furrowed and he mumbled something unintelligible, then his eyes opened.

"Hey," Steve said. "We're landing."

"Um," Tony said. He lay there for a moment, then reached up and rubbed at his eyes.

"I'm going to—" He gestured toward the back of the plane.

"Nnn," Tony said.

Steve headed for the lavatory. He freshened himself up as best he could, which was surprisingly well. The large bathroom was supplied with everything a filthy-rich traveler could need, including a shaving kit and deodorants for both genders. Somewhat bemused by it all, Steve settled for brushing his teeth and washing his face. He did his best to smooth the wrinkles out of his clothes, then decided that it didn't matter. It wasn't like he was about to see anyone he knew.

He left the lavatory to find Tony chatting easily with one of the flight attendants. She was laughing at something he had just said. When she saw him, she said, "Oh, Captain Rogers. If you could just take your seat, sir."

Steve gave Tony a look.

Tony just shrugged. "She asked who you were. So I told her."

Steve sighed.

Naturally the rules did not apply to billionaires. Tony took his turn in the lavatory next, and when he emerged he looked ready for a boardroom meeting, T-shirt and all. As he took a seat in the row opposite Steve he said, "Oh, by the way, I think half of Sydney is coming out to greet us."

Steve was horrified. "What?"

"The pilot informed me that apparently the press have learned that Tony Stark and Captain America are on our way. Seems there's quite a crowd gathered. I hope you brought your game face."

"I—My what?" Steve asked. Not that it mattered. The press was out there, waiting for them to disembark. 

He wished now that he had taken more trouble with his appearance.

"Don't worry," Tony said. "You'll be fine."

Steve scowled and said nothing.

The plane touched down smoothly, and they began taxiing toward the terminal. Steve looked out the window, eager for his first sight of Australia. Most of his enthusiasm died, however, when he caught sight of what awaited them on the tarmac. There was a long black limousine, along with a cluster of people being held back by airport security. Half of them had microphones. The rest had cameras.

"Just think of the headlines," Tony said with a smirk. "G'day Captain America! Welcome to Australia."

Steve groaned.

Tony undid his seat belt and stood up. "So, what did you think of your first non-wartime, non-SHIELD-sponsored flight?"

Steve gave him a look. "You know, I have flown before."

"Really?" Tony said. "When was that? Back when the Wright Brothers were still active?"

"Ha ha," Steve said, and tried again to smooth his wrinkled shirt.

"I bet they didn't have first class like this, though," Tony said. "Am I right?" He grinned.

Steve smiled back. "Maybe," he said. "But don't worry. Flying with you is much better."

The airplane door was opening, admitting the bright Australian sunlight. Tony clapped him on the shoulder and put his sunglasses on. "Always is," he said.

He stepped out into the morning, and Steve followed.

******

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Apparent character death is only apparent.
> 
> The scene Tony describes with Yinsen is not in the film or even in the deleted scenes. However we do see it being filmed in the Behind the Scenes featurette on the DVD. I've always loved that bit and I dearly wish it had been included in the final cut of the film.
> 
> There is one remaining story in this series, and it will be the longest yet.


End file.
